


The Devil Will Drag You Under

by Crimson1, RedHead



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark, Emotionally unhealthy relationship, Implied mental illness, M/M, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, implied depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 02:40:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6220417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson1/pseuds/Crimson1, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHead/pseuds/RedHead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Singularity, no amount of rebuilding the city or stopping criminals can fix what's broken inside of Barry. When it's finally too much for him, a fight with Captain Cold is a welcome distraction, but that's nothing compared to how Barry feels letting the man force him to his knees and use him. Before either knows how it happened, they tumble into something brutal and broken, and neither is certain they know how to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil Will Drag You Under

**Author's Note:**

> Crimson: This originally was a tumblr round robin that gripped RedHead and I so fiercely, I'm pretty sure we responded to each other for hours, and picked things back up from night into the next morning before this finished. We decided it was finally time to share it with a larger audience after some tweaks that better fit things with what happened in canon. Enjoy!
> 
> Redhead: This was so much fun to write with Crimson! We've made some changes from the version that can be found on tumblr for a host of reasons, but we're hoping people appreciate this updated version. :)

 

 

It starts the first month after the Singularity. Barry’s not living with Joe anymore, moved out as soon as he could find a place, and Iris is back in with her father, needing the support. Barry can barely look at her still. Cisco and Caitlin are starting new jobs and he just found out that STAR Labs is entrusted to him if Dr. Wells doesn’t return.

He hates everything. He doesn’t really, but it feels like that sometimes. Food tastes like ash in his mouth. He’s tired all the time, barely sleeping as he spends his nights rebuilding. He counts the number of deaths, the names of the departed, every night before he falls asleep. He always starts with “Eddie Thawne, Ronnie Raymond,” before listing the other casualties of the Singularity.

Captain Cold and Heatwave performing a heist is an almost-pleasant distraction from the churn of his days at this point. Cold’s laughing and taunting him, and Barry is throwing back barbs, and it’s almost like the last two months didn’t happen. Heatwave gets knocked unconscious, and Cold gets in a blast that hurts Barry. It’s probably not a good sign that he relishes the pain, right now. Cold gets close to taunt him and Barry flashes forward to try and take his gun, slower than he should be with his injury, and Len manages to catch him with another close cold blast, knocking him back and onto his knees.

Len can’t help the jibe about how he likes to see Barry there, and Barry can’t help the bitten off reply that Len should _put_ him there if that’s what he likes to see. There’s a second where they both hesitate after he says it, and then Len asks if Barry would like that, and Barry’s reply is “Only if you make me,” and suddenly everything has shifted and it feels like a tightrope line they’re dancing on.

Barry hasn’t bothered to get off his knees yet and Len’s imagination is running wild, because it isn’t hard to see the dark circles under the kid’s eyes, or the way he’s clearly waiting for Len to press this.

So he does, and in record time they’re at a safehouse and he’s got Barry on his knees for _real_ , and there’s nothing kind or slow about it. And they both kind of think that’ll be it, the one time. But Barry is sore and smarting when he gets back to his apartment, and he passes out before he can think of his list of names. He sleeps a full eight hours.

So when two weeks go by and he’s barely slept, he finds himself doing a line of shots at Saints and Sinners and waiting for Cold to notice him.

\-----

Len notices Barry the second he walks in the door but ignores him, goes to the other end of the bar to order a drink, turns his back on Barry to accept a game of pool. Plays the whole round, waiting to see what Barry does, before he finally joins him. And shit, the kid should be tipsy and stumbling, but he’s stone cold sober when Len sits beside him.

“Playing with fire, kid?”

“I thought that was your partner’s MO, not yours.”

“Hn. Ice can burn at the right temperature too.”

“Freezer burn? Maybe I don’t mind that idea.”

“Then maybe you’ll meet me in the alley in two.”

And Barry does. Len can hardly believe he’s there, but Barry is compliant, and eager, and does everything he says, even when Len’s rough, especially when he’s rough, forcing Barry to his knees, taking what he wants without giving anything back. He passes the kid a number for a burner phone he’ll save just for this.

“Call the next time you want to get put in your place, Scarlet. You’re quick on your feet, but so much better on your knees.”

He keeps expecting each time to be the last, but Barry calls often, meets Len wherever he asks him to go, falls to his knees, begs to be touched, accepts it when Len doesn’t bother to get him off.

So Len’s both surprised and not surprised the first time he tells Barry to bend over the bed, and Barry obeys like he has everything else, takes it, begs for it even when Len is brutal, and only nods and flashes away when they’re done because Len tells him to go. He’ll let him know when he’s needed again, and maybe, maybe the next time Barry begs for it, Len will accept the call.

If sometimes, Barry cries out a little louder than usual, has tears in his eyes, huffs a little more brokenly, Len tells himself he doesn’t care, convinces himself this is everything he wanted of the kid, because any more than that would be too close, too much. If he’s harsher the next time they’re together, well, that’s only for the kid’s own good, because anything more would be bad for both of them. Plus the kid does look so good on his knees and bent over solid surfaces, lips swollen red and hands clenching into the sheets.

\-----

It goes on for weeks until those weeks turn into months. Len’s not an idiot, he knows it can’t last, shouldn’t last. The Flash’s exploits rebuilding the city at night are becoming a hot gossip topic. They just named a goddamn latte after him at Len’s local coffee stop. And sometimes he gets a tight, possessive and dark tug in his gut, knowing he gets to see a side of The Flash that no one else does—debauched and ruined, begging for Len to fuck him harder over the side of the nearest flat surface at 5 in the morning after a night of rebuilding does nothing to make the kid feel better.

They don’t talk about this. Not really. Their exchanges stay tense, and when Barry gets too personal, skirts the line of actual communication, Len grabs him by the jaw, thumb and forefinger on either cheek, digging in, reminding him what he’s there for.

Len can’t talk about this. Not really. Because if he does he’ll start to wonder just how broken Barry is that he needs it like this, why he looks haunted every time he shows up, why he looks next to tears every time they’re done and Len starts to haul on his clothes. Because if they talk he’ll start to care, and neither of them can afford that.

He starts to dread seeing Barry. He’s rougher on the kid because of it, because he can’t let himself get in too deep but he can’t seem to say no. The kid’s got some pull on him. He wonders when he stopped feeling in control of what’s going on between them.

They’re a few months in and showing no signs of slowing. He never calls first. And maybe that’s how he gets away with being so cruel—Barry will take whatever Len gives him, ask and beg for what he wants, let himself be used and pushed aside. To him, something is better than nothing. Len isn’t sure if he agrees with that anymore.

He feels something twist inside him the first time Barry pulls his hand to his throat and leaves it there, asking silently. Len’s rough with him, doesn’t hesitate to pull his hair, push him around, but he’s never taken it this far. Then again, they almost never fuck face to face, and tonight was an exception because Barry was angling for it to be hard and fast, liked it when Len would bite him hard enough to make his lip bleed like it was right now, and Len wanted to stare at that while he was inside him, lean down and bite it again when it started to heal over.

Barry’s neck feels delicate in his fingers but he squeezes anyway, just to see what’ll happen. The kid shouldn’t trust him this much. He cuts off Barry’s airway and the kid cums without being touched. Len swears and he’s not far behind.

The fact that it happened the day the upcoming “Flash Day” has been announced shouldn’t bother Len. He shouldn’t even notice. But he does, and he doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge.

\-----

Len’s there when Flash Day happens. Of course he is. Waiting in the crowd, ballcap pulled down over his head to blend in, otherwise melding with the throng effortlessly. No one would suspect him even if they looked him in the face, and had seen that same face on the news multiple times.

He waits for the moment when The Flash will appear, is somewhat intrigued when he actually does, but that smile isn’t genuine—it’s tight, strained, everything Len’s seen the past several months with Barry trying to act normal when he really just wants the pain.

Len backs away with all the others when the meta human attacks, but stays within viewing distance, keeps an eye open, his gun not with him, but he’s still perfectly capable and willing to intervene…though it isn’t necessary. The Flash has this, goes through the motions clinically, wins the day, more or less.

Len waits the appropriate amount of days before he starts to expect the call, and Barry doesn’t disappoint. The thing is, when Barry shows up at the nearest safehouse, Len doesn’t expect for him to be the aggressor, to come at him, kiss him bitingly, taunt him, demand things from him with a fury in his eyes like lightning sparking.

“It’s what you want, isn’t it? You want to hurt me? You want me to die? Everyone else would be better off. You want it! I know you do...” Like he's fantasized about it. Like he wants Len to want that. But he can't, doesn't.

“Kid, stop. That isn’t what I want, I…”

But no, Len can’t say what he means, what he feels, because it would reveal too much. It would prove he’s craved this too, just as much, so much, that he’s glanced at that damn burner phone every night, even the nights right after though he knew, knew Barry wouldn’t call so soon, but he still wanted it. Wanted him. Wanted to touch Barry in a way that wasn’t only about pain.

But that isn’t what Barry wants. That isn’t what Len knows how to give. He wouldn’t even know how to begin to try to offer something more for the kid.

So he just stares at him, sits there on the edge of the bed, not giving in for the first time since this all started. Not knowing how to take what he wants, because he doesn’t know what he wants.

It doesn’t move Len when Barry first strikes the wall at being denied. The initial hit is meager in comparison to what The Flash is capable of—angry but half-hearted, hoping Len will call for him to stop and just give in, give him what he wants. But Len doesn’t move, doesn’t acquiesce.

Barry hits the wall harder. Harder. Faster. Speed force fast, as he takes the pain he wants to feel for himself, and damn, that has to hurt, has to bruise, deeper than skin, maybe even break bones no matter how quickly the kid heals. It’s mashing the wall into shrapnel and then some.

When Len finally gets it into his head to intervene or risk Barry causing real damage to himself and tearing the safehouse apart, he’s already moved on to the mirror beside the door with a shock of lightning in his wake. The glass shatters on the first hit, leaving the skin of Barry’s knuckles split open, fingers gnarled, glass tinkling onto the carpet at his feet. But instead of coming to his senses, he rages harder, flashes across the shards to get closer to the frame and pounds his other fist against what remains of the mirror with a howl rising on his lips until it rings out so loud, Len’s ears ache.

Len should be horrified, but the damage, the blood, the desperation in Barry to inflict such pain on himself, makes him nauseated instead—at himself, for allowing things to get this far and for making Barry into someone he isn’t.

He won’t hurt Barry, won’t choke him, won’t take him harsh and brutal like the kid wants, not tonight. Not when Barry is clearly asking to be punished, punished for once again letting someone die, for being the reason, for actively participating in a meta human’s death.

Len can kill and hate himself for it in the morning, and move on, but Barry doesn’t get to play that game. Barry is supposed to be better. Barry needs to be better. When did Len drag him down to his level? Was it when this all started, or had Barry fallen that far before, long before Len twisted him to his image and made the kid cry and come with his name shattered on his lips?

“Barry, stop!” Len growls, snatching up the kid’s wrists to keep him from bloodying his hands any further, but the moment their skin makes contact, Len gasps at how quickly it’s over.

Barry reacts at Flash speed upon being grabbed, whirls on Len and throws him off of him with such force, Len only realizes he’s struck the wall because the wind knocks out of him and he loses his breath from the jolt. He coughs and nearly keels over as he sucks in air. He suddenly understands just how much Barry usually pulls his punches.

Standing there amidst the blood-covered glass, with several dents in what’s left of the wall, the mirror ruined, and Barry’s hands cut and mangled, the kid’s eyes finally clear and he stares, gaping at Len as they both pause and breathe hard amidst the silence. Their eyes meet as Len catches his breath, and there’s this stillness, this tension that can never be put right, never again.

When Len tells the kid to leave, it carries weight this time, carries finality, ending this for more than just the night. A night left unsatisfied, because neither of them got what they wanted, and yet Len feels that somehow he still did. Barry needs to get out while he can, escape this Hell they’ve created for themselves that has nothing beautiful in it but what little remains of what The Flash could still be. If only he’d realize that. If only he’d recognize that Len is a cancer making it all worse.

He hopes Barry understands that in time. Wishes he felt nothing when he freezes the burner phone with his cold gun. Wishes he felt anything at all…other than longing.

\-----

It’s already dawn and Barry still can’t believe what he did. He didn’t mean to. He lost control.

He threw up in the alley outside the safehouse and ran to Star City and back, then Coast City and back. He was up until dawn and shaking with hypoglycemia by the time he made it back to his apartment.

He needed Len to just—to just—goddammit he needed Cold to be _cold_. Because Barry’s friends are back in his life and they won’t let him push them away and they’re gonna see, if they haven’t already, how badly he’s cracking at the seams. Len’s cruel hands were the only things stitching him back together, some days, the only one who seemed to hate Barry like he hated himself, taking his pain and reflecting it in bruises on his body. And now Len took that away, and Barry repaid him with anger.

His hands are shaking, dried blood from his cut up knuckles. He can’t believe what he did. He didn’t mean to. He lost control.

He didn’t mean to. He lost control.

He didn’t mean to. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t—

Barry is sobbing, breaking. His father’s out of jail, his friends are working at his side, his city is most of the way rebuilt and calling him a hero, and he should be happy but he can’t—this isn’t—

He doesn’t deserve any of it.

Why can’t they see who he is? What he is? How _selfish_ he is? He’s not a hero. He’s a person who’s been forcing his—whatever Cold is to him, was to him—to hurt and bite and choke and use and _take_. And all along Barry’s been begging for it, begging for someone to hurt him, and then he turned around and showed his true colors when he was denied.

He can’t believe what he did.

Barry knows between right and wrong, and he knows he hasn’t been in control for a long time. Long before tonight. Ever since the Singularity. Maybe ever since Harrison Wells, since _Eobard Thawne_ entered his life. He knows he shouldn’t have lashed out, knows he almost hurt Len and almost hurt him very badly. He knows he hasn’t been fair, that Len loathes this and him almost as much as Barry loathes himself. That’s what made it okay before tonight. He knows he shouldn’t have started to crave Len, to need him, to need this, but he did (he doesn’t deserve any of it). He knows he’s been using Len for a long time.

Barry knows the difference between right and wrong, and he knows he’s wrong.

After work, hands finally still again, he tries to call Len, to apologize. Len doesn’t answer. The line is disconnected. Barry supposes he deserves that but he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s falling apart at the seams. But Len made it clear what he wanted (didn’t want). Barry has no more room left to ask for anything, especially not forgiveness. So he doesn’t press, and doesn’t go to Saints and Sinners.

He tries his best not to fall apart. The city needs him. According to another speedster from another Earth who he doesn’t trust at all (he can’t—not after Eobard, he can’t trust again, not like that), according to that man, the whole _world_ needs him.

But Lisa Snart seeks out The Flash two weeks later because their father is out of prison and has kidnapped Len, and Barry jumps at his chance. For this moment, for the first time, Len needs him. And Barry hadn’t realized until that second that he didn’t just need the bruises and the pain and the cold cruelty in Len’s eyes—that some part of him started to crave more than that from the other man.

He knows Len won’t ever care about him, not the same way, not after seeing what kind of person Barry really is, spread out under him and begging for pain—and especially not after what Barry did when he lost control. But some part of Len looked disappointed when Barry broke, and Barry could hold on to that.

He tells Lisa that yes, he’ll save her brother.

\-----

Len doesn’t expect it when Barry shows up at Saints and Sinners where he’s eating lunch, waiting for his father, ready to take whatever orders he’s given, because it’s the only way to save Lisa even if she never forgives him for going off the grid. He should have known Scarlet would find him, seek him out after the way things ended, with him cutting off their one sure way of communication.

Len acts like it’s nothing, like he knows exactly what his father is planning and could care less who gets in the way, who might get hurt. He doesn’t expect Barry to offer to lend a hand, to offer to help make sure Len gets out of it unscathed, even if Len hasn’t asked him, doesn’t want that, wouldn’t want that if it was the only way to save his own soul. But Barry demands it, says it IS the only way, if it’ll keep Lewis off Len’s back and satiate him to leave Len alone, then so be it.

Len tries to tell Barry off, ignoring the way the kid’s gaze lingers on the skin peeking up out of his shirt and leather jacket, longing in a way that should make him angry, should make him hate Barry for putting them both in that position, but he can’t—can’t hate Barry, can’t fault him for finally breaking when he was in pain for so long, when Len was helping deliver that pain, enabling it, keeping him there in that headspace. They’re a mess and it’s all wrong, but Len just wants to get Barry away before it’s too late.

So he leaves, meets his father elsewhere, gets on with the job. But of course that isn’t enough. The kid finds out the truth, always does, knows Lisa is in trouble, and still wants to help, wants to help even more than before. Lewis is there and Barry doesn’t even flinch, says, bring it, says, tell me what to do, grinning like he’s old hat at committing crimes.

Len has to be cold throughout the entire heist, has to pretend like he’s unmoved, like he doesn’t care that his nemesis is at his left, his father at his right.

He hears the shot before he realizes what’s happened.

“Foolish kid, playing in the big leagues like he’s untouchable,” his father sneers while Len is rooted to the spot in the hall. Lewis is uncaring, not at all affected by having shot Barry even though he never once warned Len that he’d dare.

“You…bastard,” Len seethes, snatching the gun from him, and before he knows what he’s doing, he punches Lewis clean across the jaw, hard as he can. His father’s on the ground and Len doesn’t hesitate, not now when he’s disoriented, no detonator in hand to hurt Lisa. The cold gun makes quick work of Lewis and his shocked expression is all Len needs, watching the life leave his eyes.

A second later, Len falls to his knees, spent. He almost flails back when Barry rolls to his feet, slow and steady, fingers raised holding the bullet, having caught it only too easily.

“I didn’t expect…I didn’t think you’d kill him.”

“You’re alive.”

“Takes more than a speeding bullet to drop me,” Barry says, a ghost of a smile like Len remembers, like he’d longed to see all these months. “But your father…”

“Deserved it. He broke Lisa’s heart. Lisa—”

Barry brings a hand to his ear, the comm hidden there so small, Len hadn’t even known the kid had been plugged in to STAR Labs. “She’s safe.”

“Then get us out of here, Barry.”

“The body…”

Len can see his conflict, his eyes on the cold gun. Their deal. “We all have our demons, Barry. I just put mine to rest.”

Barry nods, eyes soft, “Okay. I trust you.”

Len’s instincts tell him to hate those words, to dissent, _you don’t know what you’re saying, kid,_ but it moves something inside him. Something like relief, like absolution.

When Barry flashes them away, Len doesn’t realize where the kid brought them until he’s kissing Barry as hard as he can and he hears Cisco Ramon gasp.

“ _Dude._ ”

“Len!” Barry pulls away from him.

But no, this isn’t an end. Len doesn’t have any back up plans left now, not with how he severed ties to his father in the most final way. He feels alarmingly untethered. “Barry…” he tries.

“Lenny, what the hell are you doing?” Lisa’s voice calls next, and Len finally looks up, looks over, sees his sister standing there beside Cisco and Doctor Snow, hair pulled to the side, red mark on her neck as a symbol of her safety.

Len ignores them for now after a lingering glance at Lisa, looks back to Barry as they steady themselves on their feet. “I’d never want you dead, kid. You get that yet? You understand? Stop asking for something you’re never gonna get from me, because I’ll only ever deliver the opposite and pull your ass out of the fire.”

For a moment Barry looks startled, shamed, and he falls back, stares and stares, his eyes watering like Len has seen too many times these past months. “Why do you even care? Why would you ever care after…what I did?”

“Because you’re better than this, better than me. Stop trying to be like me. You’re a hero, act like one. Stop looking to me to give you something I never signed up for. You can’t save me…but I am not going to ruin you.”

\-----

Barry enters Jitters a week later, more nervous than he’s ever been walking in there, which is saying something. He’s nervous because he’s meeting Len for a coffee. And that’s it—just a drink. No sex. No weapons. Just…coffee.

After the fiasco with Len’s father, and him and Len kissing in front of STAR Labs and Lisa, they’d taken some time, distance. Barry had explained to his friends a (heavily abridged) version of him and Len getting closer, and Len had told his sister pretty much everything, without any details that would make her wrinkle her nose too much.

Barry had ruminated about what Len had said, about being better than him. Barry didn’t agree. But Len was being more than fair when he said he never signed up for this, and Barry had pushed him too long and too hard for something that, well… he understood, he really did, that absolution and forgiveness had to come from within. His friends were helping on that end. It wasn’t…it wasn’t easy, or perfect, but it was progress.

And progress is why he’s walking into Jitters and not Saints and Sinners, and why Len’s willingly meeting him here. They had a lot to talk about.

Barry finds them a seat in the corner and sips his favorite latte, another simple pleasure he’s been denying himself for almost seven months.

“First off, I’m sorry.”

“Think that’s my line, kid.”

“I—no, really. Not just for hurting you that night, but I’m sorry about that too. I’m sorry I put you in that position. You were right, you didn’t sign up for…whatever we were doing.” There was no point in blushing about it now, but he still diverted his gaze to his coffee when he said that.

“No, but I didn’t exactly put an end to it, or treat you well. You gonna take all the blame for this too? For everything in your life?”

Barry shakes his head, “No I’m…I’m moving forward. Which is why I want to say…I like you, Len. Or…I think I could like you, if I actually got to know you. You’re different than anyone else I know, but different has been good, is good and I…”

Len’s eyes are slowly going wide. “You think that’s a good idea, kid? ‘Cause it’s not. You’re the hero and I’m the villain, remember?” He knows he’s a cancer, though here in the brightly-lit cafe, clothes on and composed, he’s having a hard time remembering his protests about this.

“You also kissed me in front of half the people we know,” Barry smiles and it’s a little like the smile Len misses on his face, confident and not strained, if a little nervous.

“I told you I won’t ruin you.”

Barry shakes his head. “You couldn’t if you tried, Len. You’d have already if it was going to happen. I was trying to ruin myself. I’m not—I’m not _scared_ of you, or this. I’ve had a lot of shit in my life to sort through and you make it easier, make it better.”

Len’s reply is immediate, “I won’t go back to hurting you.”

“I’m not asking you to. I don’t want that. Well okay, part of me does,” he glances down, “always will. But that’s not what I’m asking for right now.”

“What are you asking for?”

Barry’s smile is a little sad, and a little rueful. “How about a second coffee date? And if that isn’t a disaster, who knows, we could get crazy and work our way up to dinner sometime?”

Len is scared. He hates it, and wouldn’t admit it to anyone but himself. He’s scared because he already cares so goddamn much about Barry and he doesn’t want to ruin this, and even more than that, he doesn’t want to ruin the part of Barry that’s still strong enough to try and claw his way out of the dark cave he’s been in. But he also wants _this_ , wants Barry, real and healthy and whole, instead of the shadow he’s had all these months. It’s the hope in Barry’s eyes that gets him to say yes, though.

Maybe, if they both play their cards right, and if they’re very very lucky, they can figure this out together. Len decides he likes that idea, and maybe they can find a way to make their ragged seams and broken pieces fit together in a way that doesn’t hurt, after all.

\-----

It’s many, many coffee dates, dinner dates, and movie nights later that they even attempt to be intimate again.

Barry trembles when Len reaches for him, but Len is shaking too, and somehow that makes it okay, to show that weakness as long as they are weak together. It's the first kiss other than the brief one in STAR Labs that carries any gentleness between them, tentative, soft, and warm like Len's never been with anyone.

Only Barry.

Only Barry Allen could take him to the brink, to a vision of the worst of himself, colder than he'd ever thought he could be, ever wanted to be, and then lead him to a new precipice just as swiftly, somewhere he can lay down the burden of being Cold and see something better reflected back.

Barry is better than him, but Len is a better version of himself just by being with the kid, healing together, finding solid ground, common ground that makes it all less scary than it might have been.

So he reaches for Barry one night, finally, holds him, kisses him sweetly, and when they rock, and touch, and start to pull the fabric from each other's shoulders, it’s different than it’s ever been. Together—or with anyone else. It’s beautiful. Len has never had beautiful.

The pain of their pasts, how this all began, the urge to be rough, the panic of getting too close, that's all gone. It's just them, stolen breaths, yes, but not stolen hours, because Len would give Barry every minute he has, every carefully planned second.

Fingertips hold and press in deep but never dig too hard. Lips meet like lovers, not as enemies, breaths stuttering, caught up in the bliss of it all, laughing together even, because this, this is how it should have been, how it could be every day.

And Len actually wants that, more than just the way Barry’s body feels spread beneath him, opening for him, taking him in, deep into the safest harbor he’s ever known, but because every moment since his father forced this mess up to the surface has felt like peace instead of a prison. With Barry, Len is freer than he’s ever felt when striking out alone.

“Len…” Barry gasps, neck arching, fingers digging into the sheets like some Pavlovian response, so like and unlike the many times they’d been here before, but it doesn’t carry with it any of the pain, not when Barry comes with Len’s touch on him gentle, giving, one hand holding Barry’s face so he can kiss him when he shudders through the aftershocks.

“I’m here, kid. Right here.”

 

THE END


End file.
